


An English Werewolf in New York

by Birdie_Anne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deathly Hallows Fix, F/M, HP: EWE, New York City, Original Characters - Freeform, Werewolves, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdie_Anne/pseuds/Birdie_Anne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just 18 months after the end of the Second Wizarding War, an attack by a roving band of werewolves changes English Wizardry, and Hermione Granger's life, forever. With a huge percentage of the young heroes of the war now afflicted with lycanthropy, it's a brave new world. For Hermione, it's about making the Wolfsbane Potion and staying away from Draco Malfoy, whose mere presence drives the wolf in her crazy. Now, five years after the attack, Hermione has been invited to New York City to help develop a new, less time intensive version of Wolfsbane, and she grabs the opportunity with both hands. After all, not only would this new potion make her life easier, but the opportunity will get her away from Malfoy once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as a Treasured Trope at Hawthorne and Vine many months ago, but it grew legs and kept going. This is now the second draft, and the first to be published to the 'net. In fact, this is my first fanfic in the Dramione genre!
> 
> The story will be about 15 chapters long, with a prologue and epilogue, and I will (hopefully) be posting one chapter a week. 
> 
> Special thanks to JJ Sigford and Nicole/evenangelsfall22 for Betaing the first draft, and JJ Sigford and y3llowdaisi3s for Betaing the second draft! This would not be as good as it is without you!
> 
> Be gentle, and enjoy! ;)

# Prologue

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present Harry and Ginny Potter! The couple will now dance their first dance!” Luna’s voice floated over the gently lit ballroom, the moonlit, snow-covered surroundings visible through the large, beautiful windows lining one wall. 

Harry, in an evening coat, and Ginny in a beautiful, fur-trimmed cape, swirled onto the dance floor together, their eyes only for each other. The music, a small orchestra, played a beautiful piece that Hermione recognized as from a little-known wizarding opera that Harry had taken Ginny to see on one of their first official dates after the war. The song had just come to an end, the gentle strains of music fading away into that momentary silence before another song, when every glass window in the ballroom shattered at once, the lights snuffed out. Screams started echoing through the chamber, and Hermione immediately saw why. Through the broken glass appeared a group of werewolves, savage, gleaming eyes, terrifying in the darkness. 

Her hand was ripped out of Ron’s as a pair of werewolves attacked them. She looked at him searching for reassurance, until pain ripped through her body and she knew no more. One last thought – _So this is how I end._

Two days later, Hermione Granger woke up in St. Mungo’s, and knew her life would be very different from now on.

~~~

Blaise lifted up his glass. “Let’s hear it for the happy couple!” 

The crowd raised their glasses to a chorus of “Here, here!” and “Cheers!” 

It was a small group, an intimate party to celebrate an intimate occasion, made more intimate by the fact that it shared the date with the Potter wedding. They had all been invited, but as this had been planned first, it was an easy excuse. It seemed bizarre to plan a party that far in advance, but December 22, 1999 was a perigee moon, known as an auspicious night. Draco suspected that the Potter wedding was scheduled as such as well. He glanced at Pansy as they each sipped their champagne and marveled, again, that he was here. At his engagement party, to Pansy Parkinson. If one didn’t think too hard, one could believe that it was as she had all planned by their fifth year, before they all got in too deep, and before he realized what the real outcome of any plan of Voldemort’s would be. 

In this new world, Pansy would help him and love him in a way that few would. She was the only one who knew of his real aspiration – the only one who knew that the suffering of the war had kindled a desire to be a Healer so strong that he was willing to do whatever was necessary. The speeches done, he wandered to the side of the rooftop deck, looking out into the snow-capped landscape in the dull light of the full moon. He sipped his drink slowly, trying to decide whether this was how Pansy imagined it. He would ask her later. 

The sound of smashing glass followed by the abrupt darkness alerted Draco that something was amiss. 

“Draco!” Pansy screamed out, but he could not see her. 

“Lumos!” He yelled, his wand light revealing something he never wanted to see again – a pack of werewolves. Several were in the process of claiming victims. Without a conscious thought, with the blood roaring in his ears, green jets began streaming out of his wand. He dropped several werewolves, answering green jets coming from Blaise, who had been standing behind the bar when the attack began. In a matter of moments, the rooftop garden was destroyed and all the werewolves were dead. Malfoy stood panting, his vision clearing. 

Blaise dropped down, checking the nearest prone body.

“I think they’re still alive!”

“Alive?” It propelled him into action. He only had eyes for Pansy, lifting her prone body from the ground. “St. Mungo’s! We need to go to St. Mungo’s!”

The chaos in the emergency ward was unexpected. Bodies were on cots in every corner. A mediwitch looked at the two of them.

“Was she bitten too? I can’t believe it, at a wedding!”

“It wasn’t Potter’s wedding.” A quick look around had told him what he needed, causing his heart to pound painfully. “It was our engagement party.”

“Oh Merlin!” The color drained from her face. “Put her here, I’ll send the Healer over, and I’ll inform the Aurors.”

Two attacks. Two different places. He wondered if there were more. Pansy lay prone on the bed, and he pulled her cold hand into his. There was a chair next to the bed, and he sat, wondering if there was any hope. 

He had never been so glad that none of their parents had been invited to the party. 

~~~

Hermione could feel herself starting to sweat. And she felt, at that moment, that she would never really get over how different the world smelled as a werewolf. The Headmistress’ office at Hogwarts seemed like it should be safe, and yet, she was bombarded by potion ingredients, old paint, even the smell of Fawkes, who had not been seen in years. Headmistress McGonagall, as well as the paintings of Dumbledore and Snape, were paying close attention.

“We don’t have enough Wolfsbane for everyone. Some… some of us are going to have to transform without it. I need to know how to do it without us hurting ourselves or others.” She tried to hide the tears in her eyes. Although she knew it was not the worst thing in the world to be a werewolf, both the prospect of transforming into a werewolf, as well as the prospect of doing it for the first time without the comfort of the Wolfsbane Potion was more than she could bear. 

“Ms. Granger, do listen closely, for there is much to prepare.” Snape's voice cut through the silence. 

~~~

“Ron, I asked Bill.”

“Bill, the great savior of Hermione Granger. And what did Bill have to say?” They were sitting in Ron’s bedroom at the Burrow, as far away from each other as possible in the small room. A week ago they had both transformed into werewolves for the first time, and from then, things had gone horribly wrong. 

“I should never have told you that he smells good.”

“Probably not.” He looked sullen. 

“Anyway, he knew about that bit before I told him. Said he could tell after our first transformation. They did warn us that our symptoms would become more pronounced after the transformation.”

“No one ever warned me that it could make my own fiancée smell like the local garbage heap!”

Hermione would have laughed if it hadn’t been so true. He smelled like the inside of a wet gym bag that had been left to ripen for days. “Bill says – he says it means that we aren’t compatible. Or our wolves aren’t compatible. Or our magic isn’t. Or something. The language isn’t very clear on it, but wolves, werewolves in particular communicate a lot through smell. And the smell means, well, it means that we probably can’t get married.”

“You have barely been able to be in the same room as me for the last week. I had figured that much out.”

“He said…” she sighed. “He said that if we did get married, there was no chance of children. Lupin knew that much, told him as much before he died.”

“Will we even be able to be friends?”

She looked at her hands, her eyes filling with tears. “It will get better when we aren’t engaged anymore. It’ll improve more once one or the other of us is mated to someone else. And it should be almost gone once we both are.” The two cold tears fell onto her hands. She looked up at him. “I’m so sorry, Ron.”

He nodded, looking at her through teary eyes. “I think we could’ve had a nice life together.”

“I think so too.”

~~~

Draco kicked the door. Hard. His foot hurt now, but it only distracted him from the way his heart was hurting. This whole thing had started out as an arranged marriage. So why did Pansy telling him she wanted out of the arrangement hurt so much? It was hard to understand, but only if you

He sighed, and restlessly moved out onto the balcony. The peaceful countryside seemed at odds with his mood. It should be storming or raining. Or at least cloudy. The beautiful sunshine continued unhampered by his mood. 

He supposed he should be grateful that she had been honest with him, and so quickly. That it he had not been strung along for months, or that she had not decided to marry him for his money and keep Blaise on the side. In reality, that arrangement would never have worked, but it had crossed his mind for a moment. He loved her, but it had become increasingly apparent that he was not it for her. Blaise was it. Even though Pansy and Blaise were barely friends at this point. They would mate, they would marry. They would have children. 

Draco ran a hand through his hair. It would leave his schedule more open; allow him to pursue his interests without worrying about his wife at home. Somehow, the thought made him feel lonelier. He sighed, quietly, and went inside.

~~~

Hermione Granger looked up from the potion she was brewing. 

Since the attack, her life had become a cycle of brewing Wolfsbane, teaching others to brew Wolfsbane, gathering ingredients for Wolfsbane and teaching others to gather ingredients for Wolfsbane. The rest of the time was spent worrying about how they were going to pay for all the wolfsbane, and what the future of the community would be. So many lives were turned upside down, even those who had not been turned into werewolves. It had been almost eighteen months, and nothing had changed.

But something smelled wonderful. Like parchment and leather, grass and something else… something male. She pulled her wild hair back into a messy bun, pulled her blue cardigan over (her slightly stained) white shirt, and made sure she hadn’t spilled anything on her pants. All clear, she took the first step through the door of her lab and into the apothecary that occupied the rest of the first floor of the building. Immediately, the smell was stronger, and her heart began to pound as she realized it was like smelling Amortentia – which was how Bill had described the smell of a mate. She paused, still hidden in the aisles as her brain processed the information. 

“I’m looking for Hermione Granger. I was told she has a lab here.” Draco Malfoy’s voice broke through the silence. Hermione felt like the air had been sucked out of the room and she grabbed the shelf of the display next to her. The smell… THAT smell… belongs to Draco Malfoy. 

“Her lab is in the back, just through the wooden door.” 

The world burst into high colour and sound, her heart pounding. She had a moment of warning to try to compose herself before he appeared. He was in a grey pinstripe robe, cut in the fashionable style of business wizards. Every feeling of revulsion she had ever had toward him was overwhelmed by the attraction, the lust she felt for him at that moment. “Mr. Malfoy, what a surprise! How may I assist you?” Her voice was high, pinched, as she considered the high possibility that he was here for a vial of Wolfsbane while her eyes unconsciously traced the cut of his robes. Her base instincts were very clearly trying to assert themselves.

“I have a business proposition for you, if you’re willing to talk to me.”

She swallowed, trying to ease the tightness in her throat. “Of course, if you’ll follow me back into the lab.”

He nodded once, and she lingered just a moment, holding his eye for just a moment too long before turning around and leading him into the back room. 

“You can put your robe on the hook there, if you’d like.” She quickly opened the two windows in the room wider, hoping to dissipate the smell of the Wolfsbane Potion for his ease and the smell of him for her sanity. Grown up, healthy, he was incredibly attractive. Even as a rather pointy teenager, she had thought sometimes that he had potential. Now, she wished she had had some excuse for keeping his robes on. He wore matching grey pinstripe pants, a white collared shirt and a grey pinstripe vest. It looked fantastic on him, and made her acutely aware of her own state of (shabby) dress with a flush that she was sure was unbecoming. She gestured vaguely towards the table and chairs against the far wall. 

He sat, after pulling a rolled up piece of parchment from the folds of his robe. “I hear from Pansy that you are working to provide Wolfsbane for the new werewolves.” Her nipples tightened slightly at the sound of his voice.

She nodded. “With a network of other brewers, yes. There was a shortage for the first one – and we aim to never repeat that.” 

“It’s a loose network, yes?”

“A loose network, although growing and strengthening slowly. I still maintain the quality control for individual batches.” She fidgeted, hoping he wouldn’t notice her inability to decide whether to look at his hands or his mouth. Either place just about sent her libido over the edge. 

“I won’t beat around the bush, Granger. I want to help you create a permanent organization, something much more formal and productive than what you have now. And I want to use the Malfoy money to help.” Really, his voice was like a liquid caress.

“The Malfoy money?”

He leaned forward, and Hermione copied the movement, noticing the way he moved, and the way each movement seemed to bring a fresh whiff of parchment and leather to her nose. “The pressure on your clientele is great. Your costs are high, while they are a young and struggling population.” His quiet voice made this feel much more intimate than it was. 

“But…” She felt bewildered, unable to process such a strange offer while at the same time working hard to hold herself still, to not reach out and touch his lips.

He leaned back slightly, breaking the spell. “You’re aware that my father died in Azkaban two months ago.” 

“I am.” She paused. “I also read his last interview with the Daily Prophet.”

“You mean when he told the Wizarding world that he was glad that Pansy was sullying the Zabini line and not the Malfoy one?” His voice was quiet, absent of the malice she expected. 

“I do.”

“He was wrong, and I want to use my money in a way that makes that clear. Money talks – actions speak louder than words. Pansy and the others know that I say I don’t feel the same way – but to be able to do this will prove it.” 

There was something in the way he spoke, the way he said the name Pansy, that made her ache for Draco and hate Pansy at the same moment. The intensity of her jealousy surprised her. Pansy had, as a werewolf, chosen her mate, but Draco, as fully human, would not have the same limitation. He might continue loving her as he had done, without the benefit of terrible smells or other problems to induce him to stop. 

The cauldron timers going off jerked her out of her reverie. Standing, she adjusted the flame under two cauldrons and added ingredients to another two, resetting the timers as she went. She felt his eyes on her, causing her to have to focus almost obsessively on the task at hand to not mess up.

“You brew six cauldrons at a time?” He asked. She blushed as she answered, feeling the full force of what this was doing as she walked, creating more friction against her legs. 

“We determined that the most efficient in terms of effort is to brew three at a time, and six is generally all that one person can handle.” She paused. “We spent a long time figuring out what made the most sense – and this is our best answer so far.” Her adjustments done, she came back to the table. 

He considered her for a moment. “Very time consuming?”

“Incredibly time consuming.”

“Is that why you live upstairs?”

She felt herself grow a little breathless from the evidence of his interest in her life. It was nothing, a commonly known tidbit of information, but she had no expectation… “The arrangement seemed most prudent. I have a lab with easy access to most of the necessary ingredients, along with secure income from the rent of the apothecary.” 

He shifted position again, her nose once again assaulted by the heavenly combination that was, apparently, Draco Malfoy. “What would you do with more time?”

Her mind went skittering off into a fantasy of bringing him up the little flight of stairs in the corner of her lab, and then remembered that he meant in her life, not with him. “Any number of things – things that I’ve put off. Research into improving brewing techniques or improving the effectiveness of Wolfsbane, for one. Or the family life of werewolves – or even better ways to accommodate werewolves in greater society, now that we have to.” She sighed. “But, right now, the need for the potion is pressing.”

Another timer went of, the other two potions needing an adjustment. He stood with her this time, the parchment in hand. “This is the proposal. I hope you find it satisfactory. I’ve included instructions on how to respond inside as well. Will a few days be enough?”

She took the moment to finish adjusting the potion, stirring the few times necessary before restarting the timer. “A few days will be enough.” _Although I might never recover from this meeting._ He paused with his hands on the parchment for a moment. She caught herself thinking about being the parchment and fought the blush. 

He reached out for her hand, and she shook it once. Picking up his robe, he swept out of the room. Hermione, feeling lightheaded, in shock, and realizing the extent of her situation, sat down heavily on his recently vacated chair. Draco Malfoy was a mate. Not only a mate, but the strongest reaction she had had since becoming a werewolf, and indeed, enough to push all rational thought from her mind. 

~~~

Draco had been expecting a return visit from Ms. Granger, or perhaps a summons to her shop again, if the potions couldn’t be left. In fact, those were the instructions he left. Therefore, when an official looking owl arrived two days later, he was surprised that it was from her. 

> Dear Mr. Malfoy,
> 
> I write to you today glad to be able to accept your business proposal for the creation of GM Wolfsbane Inc. if you can accept the conditions for my working with you.
> 
> I give you leave to create as many labs as you see fit. Until such a time as we can train another, I will remain the quality tester for any Wolfsbane we produce. Once we are at full capacity, I will equip a lab for the purpose of improving our potion recipe. Any improvement in the ease of brewing will remain propriety information unless mutually agreed between us. Any material improvement in the effectiveness of the potion will be sent to other labs for independent testing. 
> 
> I agree to sit with you to create a full working contract for the organization, as necessary. However, due to the nature of my encounter with lycanthropy, I must stipulate some rules regarding the nature of our working together, in general, up front.  
> 
> 
>   1. As much correspondence as possible should take place through owl post.  
> 
>   2. In person interaction will be scheduled at least two days in advance, and will take into account the moon phases so as to be at least 4 days before or after a transformation.  
> 
>   3. Floo will be taken with a limit of two days before and after a transformation.
> 

> 
>   
>  These are fairly set in stone. If we must modify them, it will be to modify the parameters, rather than to get rid of them entirely.
> 
> Let these rules not betray how hopeful I am for the future – this proposal will help move the werewolf community out of the crisis mode of the last 12 months and into a more stable future. 
> 
> Sincerely Yours,
> 
> Hermione J. Granger  
> 

  
  


	2. The First Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years later, Hermione takes a great opportunity in New York City to become a fellow at the Institute for Advancement of Magical Beings. Not only is New York City amazing, but better yet is the one thing it doesn't have: Draco Malfoy!

#  The First Days 

_Five years later_ \- Sunday, August 27, 2006

The Salem Bus Line, Route 60 arrived at the Port Authority Bus Terminal in midtown Manhattan. Hermione Granger stepped off the bus and picked up her small bag. Somehow, she had expected to get off right in the middle of Times Square, but even the magical bus line had to follow the rules. The ride from International Magical Arrivals at John F. Kennedy Airport had been easier than expected, although the bus jumped around like the Knight Bus. Now, it was a matter of finding the subway.

She stopped for a moment, as the smell hit her. Car engines, dirt, the smell of lots of humans – and the less pleasant smells associated with humans. Some were familiar from London, and others were much stronger, much more… tangy than she expected. It was not unpleasant, really, but it was a little overpowering. The instructions she had received were clear, and she crossed the street into Times Square, looking for the light-up subway station sign. Ostensibly for tourists, it also marked the entrance for first-time users of the IMSS – the Independent Magical Subway System. 

Times Square looked a little like every movie she had ever seen, except with more people and a stronger smell. It was daylight, so the billboards weren’t as noticeable, but it was still a wild scene. She looked around, a little bewildered, glad that she had somewhere else to be. She was looking forward to exploring New York City eventually, but at this point, she was just hoping to get to her new apartment and start settling in. After five years of constantly making Wolfsbane and avoiding Draco Malfoy, she had taken this opportunity to go to New York with both hands. 

Battling the crowd, she took out the provided IMSS first-time user card and went through the turnstile. She felt the magical signature of the station recognizing her and the card. Despite this, she had to ride her first ride in the ordinary subway -it was, for some reason, the way the system worked. The station was warm, much hotter than the outside, and it smelled much more strongly of human odors, and wet mildew smells. She also could smell the presence of the famed New York rats, although at least at that moment, she couldn’t see any. She only waited a few moments on the platform, enough time for her to think how dissimilar it was to Platform 9 ¾ and then a train arrived. 

After waiting for people to get off, she boarded, as did most of the others on the platform. Her bag kept getting jostled around, but she kept a close watch on it. She had never been gladder for her Impenetrable Charm, even though no one looked particularly threatening. She got off at the 110th Street Station, and came up to the surface again, to a much quieter part of town. 

A few streets away she found the Huntersmoon, a yellow building with white trim. She walked up the stairs and pressed the buzzer for flat number 13. It was the penthouse, magically concealed. She took her bag upstairs, and found a tall woman with incredibly tight curls pulled into a neat coif waiting by the door. 

“You must be Hermione!”

“Why, yes.”

“I’m Windy, and welcome to 13 Huntersmoon.” She smiled. 

“I’m glad to be here.”

“Come on in, I’ll show you around. And I’ll get you something to drink, you must be tired from the travelling.”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

The place was small – just a living room and a kitchen, with two small bedrooms. The second room with good light and single bed was hers, next to the bathroom. She put her bag on the bed, and came back out to the living room. 

Windy was standing with two glasses of water. “Here’s the best part of the apartment.” Windy said, opening a sliding glass door to reveal a small rooftop deck with a weather-beaten table and chairs. “Let’s sit out here.” Hermione sat, reveling in the fact that they were outside and it didn’t smell like city. In fact, in the higher-level air, she could even smell some vegetation. 

Taking a sip of her drink, Windy looked sideways at her. “So, you’re a British werewolf, huh?”

Hermione looked over with a smile. “And you’re a werewolf Wrangler from Boston.”

Windy nodded. “That I am. You know, they didn’t think there were many werewolves in England.”

“There weren’t many, until a little after our war. There was an… incident… with a rogue band of werewolves about 18 months after it ended.”

“And now there’s a group?”

“Quite a few, actually. It’s become rather a national cause.”

“Fascinating. Well, here’s to you being the first to journey to America!” Windy lifted her glass, and Hermione followed suit.

“To America!”

~~

A few days later, she swiped her new IMSS card through the turnstile, and found herself not in the crowded subway station like she expected, but rather, face to face with a subway car door. 

 

“Uh…Broadway and 4th Street, please.” The doors opened, and she stepped on, and suddenly whipped through the tunnels like a floo, just without the spinning. She passed several trains full of unsuspecting Muggles, and arrived at the subway station nearest to her destination a moment later. Running a hand through her hair, she reassessed her opinion of New York City transit. She had been appalled by the lack of a floo system. Now she understood. 

Throwing the small bag she was carrying over her shoulder, she walked down the street and around the corner to the address she had been provided. The building itself was unassuming. In the middle of New York University’s campus, but tucked at the back of a building with an unmarked door with a Disillusionment and Muggle Repellent charm applied liberally. She stood for a moment, trying to decide if it was the right door, until the six floors above the door shimmered into existence. This was it. 

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. A small man exuding urban chic in dark, tight pants and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, hurried towards her, his earring dangling as he moved. 

“Hi there. Name please?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Welcome, Hermione!” He looked at the list on the clipboard. “You are in lab 4W, so just up the elevator and to your right. Professor Waggoner is expecting you.”

Hermione found the room without trouble. It was divided into three sections. The first, nearest the door, contained three brewing stations, with fireplaces, bookshelves, and various cabinets, all currently empty. In the middle was a conference table, along with several full bookshelves, and a blackboard. On the other side, another three empty brewing stations filled the room, near to three large windows that looked out over the NYU campus. Several people were already sitting at the table, chatting among themselves. There was also an older man there, the esteemed Professor Waggoner, in a tweed jacket and pants. His gray hair was perfectly combed and he wore wire-rimmed glasses that he was cleaning when she walked in. 

She sat, smiling at the other students whose eyes she caught. The room smelled vaguely of wolfsbane and other potion ingredients, mixed with the old books and the smell of being disused for the summer. There was also at least one other student in the room who was a werewolf, albeit an American one. A few minutes filled the rest of the seats, and Hermione tried to decide whether she should pull out parchment and ink or wait. Gauging the actions of those around her, she decided to wait, although it felt a little unnatural. 

“Good morning everyone, and welcome to the Institute for the Advancement of Magical Beings, or, as we affectionately call it, the IAMB. We will have a more general orientation this afternoon, but this morning we will concentrate on our labs here. You have each been chosen for this lab because of the nature of your work with werewolves, whether just in the beginning phases or well advanced. Each of you will be paired with a work partner, and determine together your best course of action for pursuing your mutual research goals for the next two years. Each pairing receives a brewing station, full use of the potion storerooms, and the several research libraries in the city. We also have the ability to special order ingredients if necessary, and I expect several of you will have some rather unique requests this year. 

As a lab, as well, we will be spending a significant amount of time together, going over research briefs and helping each other through research problems. Toward that end, we will do a brief round of introductions to begin the process of getting to know one another. I will begin. As many of you know, I am Professor Waggoner, and I have been at the Institute for almost twenty-five years. I became interested in this study after a friend was transformed into a werewolf and introduced me to the myriad interesting problems and questions in the field today. Early in my career, I also worked with the English gentleman who helped create the Wolfsbane potion.”

Each classmate went around introducing him or herself – they were Evan, Derrick, Stacey, Annie, Julie, Erin, Nathaniel, Adam, Brandon, Jeremy and Joseph. Hermione recognized two of them as werewolves, with the distinctive smell she was starting to associate with American werewolves. All were American, but from all different parts of the country. She had never realized how many schools for magic there were in America. 

“Now then, lets get you paired away. Your assignment for Monday is to give a brief presentation on your new partners background and research for the group, as well as to have some sort of brief about your proposed joint research. The partners are placed around the room in the order that I read your names, starting from this back corner nearest the door and going around. Evan and Nathaniel, Brandon and Stacey, Annie and Jeremy, Joseph and Adam, Julie and Hermione and Derrick and Erin. I leave you to begin to get acquainted and I will see you at 1pm downstairs. Lunch will begin at 12 noon in the cafeteria.” 

Chairs appeared at that moment next to all of the cauldrons, as did a basic set of potion brewing supplies. He stopped before he left the room.

“Oh, and before I forget, for the werewolves in our group, your transformation orientation is at 11:30 just down the hall in 4R.”

Hermione glanced around and caught Julie’s eye. She reached out her hand, smiling at the dark-haired girl.

“Julie, right? I’m Hermione.”

Julie caught her hand and shook it. “Julie Scamander. I’m so glad to meet you.”

“So, let’s check out our station.”

~~

A few hours later, Hermione, along with two others from her group, Stacey and Evan, opened the door to 4R. The small lounge had been arranged for a group, with a semi-circle of chairs surrounding the lone occupant of the room, an older woman with long, dark, wavy hair. She looked up and a moment later, hopped up with an air of slight alarm.

“You must be Hermione!” She extended her hand, and Hermione shook it. In that instance, Hermione noted a slightly different tang in her smell, apart from the already slightly different odor of the American werewolves. 

“I am.”

“So glad to have you with us.” She said. Hermione thought she looked slightly nervous.

“Very glad to be here.”

“Won’t you three have a seat, I’m sure the others will be here shortly.”

They sat, and Hermione watched, her brow ever so slightly furrowed. She was, in fact, the only one who had warranted such a response. Everyone else got a greeting, maybe a handshake, but she was the only one who had gotten her out of her seat with such alacrity. Hermione filed the information away in her brain, as the room filled. 

“Welcome, everyone.” Their leader said, her eyes darting again to Hermione. “My name is Arielle Montalban, and I am your werewolf liaison. For the last eleven years, I have been introducing and integrating students, like yourselves, into our werewolf pack. Our pack claims you as long as you want us.” She paused, with another flicker to Hermione. Hermione was starting to feel a little paranoid. 

“I have been the director of the Werewolf Liaison Program at the IAMB for the last fifteen years. I am also the mother of three children, and we are welcoming our fourth and fifth additions in late May of next year. Some of you may have already guessed, with my unusual smell. There is a unique smell for all pregnant werewolves – we’re unclear exactly why that is, but it is.” 

A dreamy-looking woman sitting next to her piped up. “You smell like a cross between cinnamon and wet wool. It’s not unpleasant but I wouldn’t use it for perfume, that’s for sure.” There was a nervous giggle around the room.

“Our experience is that while many of you were part of packs previously, some of you have not, or at least, not packs that operate the way that ours does.” Again, her eyes flickered to Hermione. “Our pack operates along a hierarchy that is bifurcated by gender. I am the Alpha Female, and along with our Alpha Male, have special responsibilities, privileges and obligations. We welcome new members, and, in the rare case when a member must be asked to leave, we decide that as well. We initiate the group Howl each full moon, and arbitrate disputes and sort out problems.” Her eyes flickered again to Hermione, and Hermione started to sweat slightly. Was there some kind of problem?

“At the first transformation, you will understand your place in the pack. This is determined by factors that we don’t exactly understand, but one of them, at least, is the length of time you have been a werewolf. Don’t be disheartened if you are low in the pack – there are rarely occasions in which it matters outside of the positioning during the Howl. 

“Up to a day before our transformation, we take a specially chartered bus from the Salem Bus Company to a location known as the Cabin, a large facility owned by the school. A group of eight Wranglers, those witches and wizards specially trained to take care of an out-of-control werewolf will be on location,” Her eyes flicked again to Hermione, “As well as at least one Mediwitch, Mediwizard or Healer who specializes in werewolves. Our medical staff medically clears each of us after we return to human form, to make sure that there were no internal injuries, and of course, takes care of any obvious injuries.”

“Those are the formalities. Shall we introduce ourselves? Why don’t you start, Hermione? Hermione is our first student in many years from outside the United States. Just tell us your name, age, where you are from, what school you went to, when you were first transformed and what you are studying here.”

“Yes, thank you. My name is Hermione Granger, I’m from England where I went to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was infected with lycanthropy just about five years ago, and I am here looking for ways to further improve the effectiveness of the Wolfsbane Potion while making it easier to brew.”

They went around the room, and Hermione was interested to note that several of the people in the room looked at her a little bit uncomfortably. What was she missing? 

Finally, after introductions were finished, the group broke up, anticipating heading toward lunch. Hermione was thinking about whether she should brave the cafeteria when Arielle asked her to stay behind for a moment. 

Hermione felt her guard go up. It was a funny sensation, knowing that her inner wolf felt the threat before her usual senses. Arielle looked troubled, as though she wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. 

“Is there something I can do for you?” Hermione asked, managing to keep her tone even.

“How much do you know about the history of our institution?”

“Um, very little, aside from what was sent to me. Particularly that you had not been accepting international candidates for a while, but had decided to open it up again to a few select candidates.”

“Yes, well, the truth is that the story of the werewolf population in England touched many of our hearts. To know that so many of you had been transformed, without adequate knowledge. Even if those who had transformed you had survived…well, that would have been worse.” She paused. “Does the name Gregor Wolfssen mean anything to you?”

“Not at all, why?”

“No, I imagine he wouldn’t.” She spoke as though speaking to herself, and Hermione was on the verge of asking her for an explanation when she spoke again, looking directly at Hermione for the first time since the beginning of their tete-a-tete. “Can I ask you some questions about your control?”

Hermione looked confused at the abrupt change of subject. “My control?”

“When you are transformed.” She said. The tone was quiet, but there was tension in her voice.

“When under wolfsbane, I have excellent control – somewhat better than many of my peers. Our research suggests that is because I underwent my first transformation without Wolfsbane.” Hermione’s voice was tight.

“And you have always taken the potion reliably?”

“How do you mean?” 

“You take it as prescribed at the times prescribed, in order to retain your full control?”

“I was in charge of overseeing the creation of all of the Wolfsbane in England until I came here to study. I taught most of the brewers how to make it and I discovered a better way for those who were having trouble complying to remember. I am flawless in my execution.” She paused, her eyes flashing. “May I ask why I am being singled out for this line of questioning?”

“There was an incident. The reason we closed our school to international candidates was because of an incident.”

“With Gregor Wolfssen?”

“You are a quick one.” She paused again. “He was also from England, brought here to take our Healers program. Turns out, he was doing some experimentation of his own.” 

“Experimentation?”

“Working to see how little Wolfsbane he could take and still get the benefits.” Hermione’s eyes widened. The control the potion gave was only really powerful if in the full dose – a half aware werewolf might do more damage than one fully out of control, simply because the werewolf would know better where to hit. “He miscalculated. Severely. He had been using a little-known area of our land up north, but a snowstorm had limited us to being in the city. He had gone down in dosage, to the point of losing control, and could not rectify it, even by taking a full dose the night before. We had everyone together, then; something we don’t do anymore. He attacked students – and not indiscriminately. He went after women he found attractive; he went after students he didn’t like. It was a massacre. When he came to and realized what he had done, he killed himself. That was thirty four years ago.” She paused. “We had to rebuild, we had to regroup. We closed the school to students from outside the country. There were rumours for years that many of them were inherently not as stable as we are – coming from more stable packs, we are often more able to maintain control. I am sure, now, you can understand my questions.”

Hermione looked distraught, both at what she had said and the implications for herself. “So, I am imagining you’ll be keeping an eye on me, then.”

“I’m sure you can understand why.”

“And I’m sure you can understand that I don’t find it flattering. Moreover, I will do my bit to convince you that I am trustworthy. I will remind you, however, that I was asked to be here, and that I rearranged my entire life to be here. As much as we need your help to establish a better English werewolf community, you also want to re-establish yourselves as leaders in the international community. My research is helping you do that.” She paused. “If there’s nothing else?”

“No, nothing. Thank your for your time. It was very reassuring.”

Hermione eyed her. “I’m glad it was for one of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a little computer trouble, so I'm hoping the next chapter won't be too delayed. Hope you enjoyed this update!


	3. The Full Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione adjusts to being a werewolf in New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, ladies & gentlemen! I've been struck with computer problems, illness, school taking over, and more! But, hopefully now back into the swing of things. 
> 
> Special thanks (as always) to my betas, JJ Sigford, Nicole and Shannon! Really, you make writing feel good!

Despite Hermione’s International Owl Mail portkey, England felt very far away for the first week she was in New York. Everything seemed different. She couldn’t open her mouth without drawing at least a little attention to herself, and despite the international flavor of the city, she found herself repeating herself more often than not. On the one hand, she was no kind of celebrity – the name Hermione Granger got her nowhere. On the other, she felt more out of place and exposed than she had in a while. Not only that, but mail was not the same as seeing. She spoke on the phone to her parents, but none of her friends had that kind of Muggle connection. 

Luckily, before she had left she had convinced Ginny (nee Weasley) to connect the new house to the International Mirror System. They had waited until they could pay for most of the house outright to purchase it, but now Ginny had been thrilled to make the connection without having to ask anyone. Windy had helped Hermione purchase the appropriate mirror (since in the rented apartment, she’d need one that wasn’t affixed to the property), and despite it’s small size, she was excited to use it for the first time. 

The appointed time was just after lunch for her and just after dinner for Ginny. Taking a deep breath, Hermione initiated the connection. 

“Hermione?”

“Ginny, it’s so good to see you!” The picture was a little like looking through a window. They had twenty minutes, and they made it count. 

Hermione gave her the updates that she had about her travels to New York, showed her the apartment, joked about her stack of books that had materialized in the week she’d been there, and generally enjoyed sharing her life. Ginny filled her in on the bits and pieces that were going on there, things that didn’t carry well in letters. Two and a half year old James woke up from his nap, and Hermione chatted with him a little as well, although it was clear that he did not understand why Hermione couldn’t come inside. 

Mutual promises to regard this timeslot as sacred ended the call, but Hermione still felt a little pang of homesickness at that moment. She had felt, just for a moment, a little listless, until her International Mail portkey lit up with a letter from Luna, and Windy arrived home with the latest gossip from the Institute. It was the new normal, but not yet routine. 

~

A week later, however, Hermione was anxious to get out of the city. Although she had never thought much about it before, she realized that she had taken her access to green space in England entirely for granted. Feeling a little claustrophobic? Just pop over to the Weasley place and get a good run. Or even just go out into the yard of everyone she knew. Here, very few places had anything resembling a garden. The closer she came to transformation, the more of a problem it became.

Windy found her on their roof deck, the small part of the outdoors that was theirs. “Are you almost ready to go? The bus should be here soon.” Her voice was sympathetic, identifying with the feeling of going out of your skin, even if she had never felt it herself. 

“Just a minute more.” She turned to face her roommate. “Are you coming too?” Windy was a high-ranking Werewolf Wrangler, but she knew that while she was in school, she was usually not taking care of werewolves.

“They asked me to come, to help out with the new recruits. It’s not a bigger group than last year, but they wanted a few extra hands.” Her voice was kind, but she looked a little uncomfortable. 

Hermione sighed, glancing down at the table in front of her. “I think it is because of me. They keep putting new procedures into place at school, and I think it’s because they honestly believe I’m going to snap and kill everyone.” She shuddered. “It’s not nice. They invited me!”

Windy moved closer, looking like she was contemplating what Hermione had just said. “What kind of procedures?” 

“Just little things. Check-ins, signatures, stuff like that. And all the first year werewolves have to have someone check that they are taking their Wolfsbane. And it can’t be our lab partner, since we might have undue influence or something. Luckily, there’s another werewolf in our group on the same potion schedule as me.”

Windy shook her head. “That’s such bullshit.” Hermione looked up at her. “It’s a common opinion among the Wranglers that there was something seriously effed up about Gregor, not just that he was a foreign werewolf. Sometimes if you’re too close to the situation, it’s hard to understand, but we spend years studying the behavior of werewolves as individuals and packs. Did you know that Gustav never found his place in the Institute pack?”

Hermione shook her head no. 

“Yeah, they don’t want to tell people that, because maybe it was just that he was a misfit who took liberties with his medication and then snapped, rather than being allowed to blame it on his heritage. The truth is, we barely understood Wolfsbane at that point, and a lot of people were experimenting without thinking about consequences.” Her tone was somewhat bitter. She glanced at her watch. “Time to head downstairs.”

They took the stairs together. “The consequences?” Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued despite her agitation. 

“Our werewolf population is way bigger than anything in America, even proportional to the much larger Wizarding community here. Although, I guess, I don’t know the new statistics.” She glanced at Hermione. “Anyway, Wolfsbane was huge for the community – the Institute started before it became widespread, but it was kind of a disaster. Everything they had to control werewolves either had terrible side effects or did almost nothing beyond a placebo effect. No one wanted to talk about Gregor’s mental health or about Wolfsbane. It had to be something immutable so they could protect themselves.” 

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Windy placed her hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Don’t let them get you down – they were just traumatized and they are trying to move on, but I don’t think they quite know how. Think of yourself as a little bit of a pioneer.”

Hermione nodded, and tried to smile. At that moment, the Salem Bus Charter arrived with a pop (several parked cars hopped out of the way so it could park) and the two women climbed aboard. 

~

Any discomfort from riding the bus, was dispelled the moment they arrived at the Cabin. It was everything that Hermione had been promised, and the opposite of the city. Whereas in New York there was barely a part even of Central Park from which you could not see a skyscraper, this was greenery as far as the eye could see, broken up in the immediate vicinity by a large lawn and an even larger split-wood log cabin. And it smelled wonderful, with the flavor of pine and unexplored wilderness. Even better, she could explore to her hearts content – the wards were designed with the needs of fifty plus werewolves in mind, so she could not wander off. 

Arielle, her long gray-black hair blowing in the breeze, called the new wolves together. “Each of you receives a room in the Cabin. If you can go upstairs in wolf form, you can transform back into human form at the end of the evening. Otherwise, there are several preferred areas for transforming back that have storage for clothes.” 

Following Arielle inside, she found a nice but plain set of rooms just up the stairs with her name on the door. Slipping off her shoes, she ran a hand over the fabric of the bed before heading back downstairs. Transformation was coming soon, and people were spreading out. She looked around a little unsure, until someone pointed in the direction of the woods. 

“Most of us like to transform in there.” Hermione nodded and thanked her, before they separated. There was little room for pleasantries at this stage of the game. She found an area, out of sight of anyone else, and sat, taking deep breaths and smelling the different smells, distracting herself from the upcoming pain by thinking about which direction she wanted to explore in first. 

~

It was not long until the pain hit. It was always less than that very first time, when she had transformed without the Wolfsbane and truly lost herself to the wolf, but it was still pain. She knew it was coming when she had the undeniable urge to get on all fours. If she had looked, she would have seen her hands already changing into paws, the fingers changing and mutating before her eyes. However, it had stopped being interesting to her after her second transformation. Now, she found it less traumatizing to just open her eyes when it was finished. 

It was a long moment before she came to her herself again, panting and warm from the transformation. She gave a happy little yelp. The ruffle of the wind through her fur brought a new wave of interesting smells, including the other werewolves. She turned away from the others, to explore the land. 

A while later, after following several squirrels and a rabbit, she realized she felt a pull back to the group. Arielle had described “pack magic,” the feeling that would bring the group together at appropriate times. As she approached the group, she realized the werewolves were sorting into new ranks. Two males were “discussing” their order, and another two were growling at each other, apparently unhappy with their new rankings. She sniffed slightly, realizing that she could tell who was in higher rank by scent, and slowly she worked her way up to the front of the group. Suddenly, it became clear that she was of second rank, just below Arielle. A female wolf, whom Hermione recognized as in her third year at the Institute, the former second, made a little bow, ceding her place and moving down the rocky outcropping where the pack had gathered. 

She felt a ripple of satisfaction as Arielle acknowledged her as Second. The pack began to quiet down as everyone began to find his or her space. Finally, it was silent, just for a moment. 

The howl started from Arielle, building up, the sound touching something in Hermione. When her howl began, it was deeper than anything she had ever known. Some had emotional reactions or even physical reactions, like spasms or fits. And some, like her, had full-blown memories. 

She watched herself getting teased in primary school, before they knew she was a witch, before they knew why strange things kept happening around her. Being teased by Ron and Harry at Hogwarts. The troll, the diary, the dragons (but thankfully not Cedric’s death). On and on through every misadventure and horror she had seen growing up in the turbulent times at Hogwarts. It paused for a moment on the Cruciatus that Bellatrix had given her, and dwelled for several long moments on the final battle. Then, finally, she felt herself being bitten by the werewolf at Ginny and Harry’s wedding. 

She came back to herself for a moment, staggering and panting, and letting out pitiful little yips. No one noticed, deep in the torment of his or her own howls. The moment passed and she felt her vision fade again. 

She was hit with the stench of Ron Weasley after their first transformation, matching the vision of the look on his face when they had decided their relationship was over. She still avoided certain parts of the Burrow that reminded her of that time, even years later. Slowly, the smell improved from the stench of a wrong mate into the unmistakable sweet smell of Draco Malfoy. Every detail of their first meeting after her transformation flashed before her eyes in slow motion, the detail of his clothing, hair, eyes and even his smell more vivid than reality. 

The longing and fear she felt mixed with her howl, strengthening it. 

The scene melted into the first Ministry ball after that meeting, before she had realized the futility of her predicament. She was in deep blue dress robes, her date a friend of a friend who smelled nice, but once Malfoy had arrived in the room, all hope was lot. She felt her face go hot as his scent seemed to pervade every object tin the room. Any attraction she had felt for her date paled in comparison to the animal pull she felt for Malfoy, and she had realized, in that moment, that she would be very lonely until she found someone who smelled as good as he did. 

Hermione’s inner wolf had not found anyone as desirable as Malfoy, but Hermione was terrified of giving him that kind of power over her. Her plan had been to limit the problem by limiting her contact with him. So they had exchanged letters. By two years into their business partnership, they had only seen each other in person six times. Yet, the scenes bore out the real problem: even through their limited communication, it was so obvious that he was so changed by the war, so different from what she expected, so ready to talk to her and listen to her – over floo or via owl post – that her feelings had deepened from animal lust to something more. 

The major problem – aside from that she turned into a blubbering idiot in his presence in general – was that there was a large part of Hermione that had never stopped being afraid of him and what a relationship would mean. And despite her acknowledgement of her own feelings, that fear and her total denial of any mutual feelings on Malfoy’s part meant that their relationship could only go so far. 

The visions slowed again, at the last meeting while she was still in England. They had just finished the business of handing over her responsibilities at the firm while she would be away, and both had stood from the table. 

“I’ll miss our little correspondence.” He said quietly, with a slight grin, reaching out to shake her hand. The owl post had been particularly busy lately with the details of the handover, but in five years, more and more friendly banter had slipped between the lines of business. 

She had clasped it, keeping her face neutral as the feelings shot up her arm. “I’ll miss it too.” She replied, her voice cracking slightly. Her heart was racing, as she squeezed his hand. After a moment, she felt herself being pulled towards him.

“A hug,” he said, pulling her into his arms, “For old times sake.” 

Hermione was fairly convinced then, as now, that they had never hugged before. 

The scene slipped from her consciousness as she became aware of her body, as her legs gave way under her. Her chin hit her paws and the air left her lungs, her limbs feeling heavy and week. Her mind was foggy, and although she wanted to figure out how to open her eyes, it seemed incredibly difficult. Another moment passed and the noise of the forest came rushing back into awareness. The howl was done, but she heard the movement of the other wolves, a grunt there, a bark here. And some human voices as well. 

Her eyes opened then, staring blindly at the dirt for a moment, before moving her head towards the voices. The Wranglers were there, watching. Watching her, it seemed, as her brain started to piece things together. She was able to maneuver herself into a more graceful seated position, her paws wrapped delicately around one another. The Wranglers seemed to take note of the slow, deliberate movements. 

Maybe she would not get tranquilized. 

Her body felt strange, as though for the first time she could tell exactly where her human body and her wolf body intersected. The strangest sensation of transformation was not entirely understanding how her body had changed, but now she could feel it – the strange elongation of her feet so she was standing on her toes, the change in the shape of her shoulder and hip joints. She could even feel how the tail was part of her spine, elongated and made flexible. It was more disconcerting than having to learn how her body moved as a wolf. 

One of the Wranglers, no one she recognized, came toward her, slowly, her hand out. Hermione moved forward slowly, deliberately, touching her nose delicately in the woman’s palm. It was their signal that yes, she was in control. The woman nodded, and moved away, leaving Hermione to her own devices. 

Despite the call of the woods and exploring, there was nothing more that Hermione wanted than to sleep somewhere safe. She knew she could make it upstairs at the Cabin and that there would be a place for her there to rest. 

~

Hermione sighed as the Healer ran a diagnostic spell over her. It felt like an invasion of privacy to be examined such, but it was standard procedure after every transformation here. The Healer clucked her tongue and ran a quick bone knitting spell, a hairline crack in a rib on her left side healing with a sharp pinch. 

“That would’ve hurt tomorrow!” The Healer said, with a bright smile. “You’re all done though. And looks like Arielle has come to see you after your first night with the pack!” 

The Healer’s tone was warm, but Hermione was less than pleased about meeting with Arielle this soon after her transformation back to a human. It was early, the light outside still tentative, but Arielle was hovering at the door of the little wood-paneled examining room, clearly waiting for her. 

The dining room table, large enough to seat twelve, had two cups of tea waiting. Arielle sat down, gesturing for Hermione to do the same. 

“You had quite the impressive first night with our pack.” Arielle said. “Becoming Second, first of all, and then your first howl, which looked quite intense.”

Hermione nodded. “I was not expecting either to happen.”

“I can understand that.” She paused to take a sip of her tea. “My wolf seems more comfortable with you. I trust her judgment. The magic would not have given me a Second that I could not trust with my Pack.”

“But I get the sense that you would not have chosen me yourself.” Hermione replied.

“I would have kept Helia. She is someone I know, and who knows the Pack. I am pregnant – and I will likely have to leave the Pack in your hands before the end of the school year.”

Hermione nodded. She had not made the calculation herself, but now the conversation made more sense. She felt, intuitively, that she could either confirm herself as Second or abdicate. 

“I accept the responsibility of Second, and pledge my service to the Pack.” The ancient formula came to her lips without thought. As soon as she had made her decision, the magic took over. 

Arielle nodded once. “I thought as much. I read a little about what you did during your war. Knowing what I learned, I did not think you would shirk the responsibility once offered.”

Hermione took a sip of her tea as well, trying to decipher the previous statement. She found, to her surprise, that she did feel a sense of responsibility toward the group. Not like her unwavering loyalty to Harry and Ron, but rather like her more general loyalty to Gryffindor. Her oath meant they were her responsibility. 

“Can you tell me about your howl? It was very intense.” 

Hermione looked at her, the change of subject abrupt. “Are all howls that intense?”

“Not often. Sometimes first howls are – particularly given how long you have been a werewolf. What did you see?”

“Images. Very vivid images. The war provided a lot of material.”

“And smells?” Arielle leaned forward a little.

“For the ones from after I transformed.”

“Not from the war, then.”

“No, images of a more…personal nature.” Hermione found herself tracing the wood grain of the table with a finger, glancing only once at Arielle. 

“Ah. I see. If ever your images or smells confuse you, I might be able to help you interpret.”

Hermione smiled. “I was able to understand them.”

“Well, very good.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 3: I'll Be Home for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter at a coffee shop leaves Hermione questioning how far she's been able to get over her wolf's attraction to Draco, and anticipating her trip home with something more like fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas, JJ Sigford and Nicole on the first draft and Shannon on the second draft. You make me better at what I do!

Fall slowly turned to winter in New York. The trees turned orange and red, then lost their leaves, and the air had a significant nip. There had even been a flurry or two, but nothing that stuck to the ground. Hermione felt as though she and Julie were progressing on their Wolfsbane research. They had, so far, shaved one step off the process, without altering the chemical profile. One step wasn’t a lot, but given the amount required by the werewolf population, even a small savings was something. They had sent their first batch out for additional testing, and were now beginning to work on their next angle. 

The day-to-day routine wasn’t glamorous: they arrived at the lab early, worked through the day, and occasionally came back in the evening. A few times, one or the other had stayed overnight to babysit a particularly worrisome or finicky step – and once, they had stayed together, arguing into the wee hours over the best way to proceed, and coming out stronger partners and stronger friends at the end. Hermione felt the thrill of a real intellectual challenge, and that, if nothing else, her time in New York would mean progress for the potion. 

On occasion, however, she would be reminded that while some things in her life were moving forward, other things were still stuck. Julie, like Hermione, loved establishing routine, but had a knack for adding fun and rest in a way that Hermione hadn’t learned yet. Wednesday, Hermione learned, was the day for the “hump day treat,” generally a favorite drink from the Starbucks conveniently located two blocks away, across the street from Washington Square Park. It served the greater NYU campus, so, despite often having lines wrapping around the store, they were incredibly efficient. That morning, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, had been relatively empty, since many students had already gone home for the holiday. 

The idea of Thanksgiving was a little weird – something she had seen on television and movies, but that was clear from the way both Windy and Julie waxed poetic, she did not have a true understanding of. Still, Hermione was daydreaming about what she would use the long weekend for – besides attending the Thanksgiving feast hosted by Julie’s family in Long Island. It was too short a time to go home – the jetlag alone made it not worth contemplating - and she would be home in mid-December anyway. 

Her musings and the fact that there were fewer people around kept her from being as aware of her surroundings as usual. Thus, she jumped slightly when her name was called to pick up her drink. Without thought she lunged toward the peppermint hot chocolate (hers) and decaf skinny mocha (Julie’s) conveniently placed on a little cardboard tray, and collided, immediately, with one very familiar blond head of her. 

The entire world froze for a moment. 

And then color, sound, scent, everything came wooshing back to her, as she realized, with her heart racing, that it was not Malfoy, but rather someone who reminded her so much of him that it was uncanny. He smiled at her apology, said without thinking, and went on his way. Dazed, she picked up the two drinks and sat at the nearest open table. 

It was, in fact, just an emotional response. Her wolf, while interested in the intense emotions as usual, was not the source. This was Hermione, realizing in that moment how much she missed Malfoy – how much thinking he was there had caused her heart to leap into her throat. It was a little overwhelming. Whoever he was, he was certainly not a Malfoy. Oh, the features were similar, and the hair, for sure, but he was wearing something so decidedly Muggle that Hermione smiled to herself just thinking of what Malfoy would say. 

He would have some kind of snide comment. Some witty rejoinder about not looking like “one of them.” The strange man had been wearing a burgundy t-shirt, covered in a navy cardigan, and a burgundy and grey scarf around his neck. Her mind filled in jeans, but she wasn’t sure if that was real or not. Either way – Muggle. 

It brought Malfoy back into focus, though. Back into her consciousness in a way that he had not been for a while. Shaking her head as she gathered her things, she knew she would have to think some more on the situation. 

~~

Hermione shifted, waiting for her name to be called at the International Portkey Station. She would be in England for two weeks, one week staying at the Potters and seeing all her Wizarding friends, and one week with her parents. She had never been more appreciative of her relationship with her parents. After the war, it had been difficult to regain their trust. The relationship had just started to repair itself when she was transformed into a werewolf. 

Still, she felt the nerves kick in as she contemplated her week. Seeing Ginny, Harry and the rest would not be difficult – a little bit of the old sadness at what she didn’t have what they did, but generally? She was thrilled to see all of them. No, it was just that on Wednesday she was supposed to present about her Wolfsbane progress to her former colleagues, and Malfoy would be there. And then, on Saturday, it would be the annual Malfoy Christmas party, which, of course, Malfoy was hosting. 

There was no way she was going to avoid him. The anxiety it set off was fierce. 

Finally, her name was called and she Portkeyed back to England, and then stepped through into the floo that had been arranged for her. “Potter Place!”

“Hermione!” Harry pulled her into a bear hug as she stepped out of the floo. 

“Harry! It’s so good to see you!” 

“Ginny! Hermione’s here!” He called, and then turned back to Hermione. “It’s so good to see you! You can put your things in the guest room, and then we have to head to the Burrow in about half an hour.”

A noise announced Ginny’s arrival downstairs. “Hermione! Welcome home!” James, in her arms, lunged towards Hermione, as was his custom. She took the squirming two and a half year old from her friend. He gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. 

“My-knee!” he said, with a satisfied look. 

“Well, he’s made his choice.” Harry said, with a smirk. 

“Yes, well, he’s known for his good taste.” Hermione said, cuddling the toddler closer. 

After putting her things down, she and Ginny sat for a few minute to catch Hermione up on the latest gossip. Which, in this family? Meant who was pregnant. 

“So, you met Danelia before you went to New York, but she’s grown so much. Percy keeps saying she’s going to start crawling soon, but Penelope just rolls her eyes at him.” Ginny smiled. “And Fleur is due in January. Victoire and Dominique both swear it’s a boy, but neither Fleur nor Bill believe them. But Victoire was right about Dominique, if you remember.” She paused for a moment. “Lavender is due in May, but she is absolutely enourmous. Neither she nor Ron believes she’ll make it to April, and I would not be surprised. It’s triplets! Little Hugo isn’t going to know what hit him!” Ginny laughed. 

Hermione smiled, ignoring the slight pang in her heart. It was not for Ron, but rather for the kind of love he had found with Lavender, and the chance to build a family. Hermione was beginning to feel as though there would be not be one for her.

“And what of Chez Potter?” She asked Ginny, with a grin. The redhead responded by placing her hands over James’ ears.

“Ask me again in a few weeks, but otherwise, be on the lookout for the newest Potter sometime in August.”

“Ginny! I’m so happy for you!” The ache was replaced by real joy, both for Ginny and for Harry. 

“Don’t tell Harry I told you, he’d kill me for telling someone so early!” 

“Not a word!” 

~~

By Tuesday night, she was in something of a state of anxiety. The Weasley’s were celebrating having everyone home, and had them over for dinner again, this time with Bill, Fleur and their children in attendance. Fleur glowed in the way a mother of two – almost three – and nearing forty shouldn’t be allowed to. Bill looked the same as always, and Hermione smiled as she smelled his familiar, pleasant smell. She would never have picked Bill for herself, but it seemed that her wolf thought otherwise. 

The evening, however, found her feeling a little detached. She leaned against the doorpost of the living room, watching somewhat absently as the majority of the children old enough to walk fought over a ball that George had charmed to fly on it’s own. 

“You look very pensive, Ms. Hermione, for such a joyous occasion.” Bill intoned, smiling at her as he slid in beside her.

“I’m worrying about my presentation. Can’t take the bookworm out of me yet.”

“Worrying about the presentation or worrying about who will be there?”

“You know what I mean.” Bill knew what there was to know of her situation. It was the hazard of being one of the few people she had been comfortable talking to when she first transformed, and then working with the two of them once the company had been formed.

“He won’t be there.”

For the first time, Hermione looked directly at him. “I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Of course not. But, if you did, I would tell you that he got into a specialist Healer program. For werewolves.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened, a smile lighting her face. It had been his dream for years, but every program worth going to was both out of the country and required a recommendation from St. Mungo’s, which had not been forthcoming. 

“Apparently, St. Mungo’s decided that they could both spare him and that it was worthwhile, given the number of werewolves we have running around.”

“Finally they saw reason. He’s only been qualified for the program for years.” She consciously settled her face back into a more neutral expression. 

“Well, I didn’t get all the details, but apparently this opportunity was not available before.”

Hermione lit up, again, uncontrollably. “It must be the program in Paris! They’ve been closed to anyone but French wizards for years, but there were rumors last year…” She trailed off as she realized that Bill was giving her a significant look. 

“I bet it would not seem out of place if you wrote him a congratulatory letter.”

“Matchmaking, are we?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were frightened of him, Hermione.”

“Bill, you do know better - I am, in fact, afraid of him.”

“Write to him. See what happens.” At that, Fleur called to him from the kitchen. He leaned in, conspiratorially. “You lit up like a Christmas tree when I said he got into that program. Just think about it.”

He wandered away to find Fleur, leaving Hermione to think. 

~~

The next morning, she got a floo at Harry’s from a very sheepish George, who was covered in a very sweet smelling black goo. She looked at him.

“George – what did you do?”

“There was a leak a few weeks ago. It made the store smell musty, so Angelina asked me to create an air freshener. It…didn’t work as planned.” 

“Oh, George!”

“It’s positively everywhere. Not only is most of the merchandise ruined, but there’s no way we can host your talk. I’m about to post a sign and send out some owls to cancel – I don’t think you’ll be able to get another place, not this soon and not this close to Christmas.”

“That was the whole reason I chose you – everyone else was having Christmas lunches and parties and reunions and what have you.” Hermione said with a grimace. “Well, there’s nothing for it.”

“I know how much this presentation meant to you, and I wanted to give you the chance to really shine. And I didn’t.”

“Well, I will be coming back in the summer, and you can make it up to me then.”

“Will do, Ms. Granger.” He replied, his saucy grin back. “Now, to figure out how to clean this up – it won’t Scourgify!”

Hermione laughed. “Good luck with that one!”

 

~~

 

Without her talk to think about, she now had another whole day to think about the Malfoy’s Christmas party. She had been counting on saving the worry until Thursday, which, given that the party was on Saturday night, would have been just bearable. But, now, on Wednesday, she was already fretting. 

She found herself shifting in her seat in the Potter’s lounge, sighing again as she tried to read the same page of her novel. They were taking advantage of James’ nap to get some quiet time – Hermione reading, and Ginny taking a well-deserved nap herself. It was really not useful to try to read. She was too distracted. 

“Hermione, you have been sighing every fifteen seconds for the last five minutes. I’m assuming it’s been longer than that, but I just woke up. What gives?” Aside from speaking, Ginny gave no outward sign that she was awake. She opened her eyes. “Please tell me it’s not about the presentation.”

Hermione smiled. “It’s related to the presentation.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh?”

“I was counting on it keeping me occupied instead of me fretting over the stupid Christmas Party. And now all I’m thinking about is the stupid Christmas Party.”

Ginny heaved herself onto her elbows. “Draco’s not going to be there – surely not having the ferret there will make things better. And you know Narcissa Malfoy is really a big teddy bear, at least where you’re concerned. Plus, Andromeda is now involved, so we even know it’s going to be good.”

“Andromeda?”

Ginny swung her legs over the edge of the couch to sit up. “Well, Teddy’s doing the private tutoring now, so he can be left for longer. And I think Andromeda wanted to reach out to Narcissa for a long time. They, the two of them, hardly have any family left.”

“Lucius must be rolling in his grave.”

“I certainly hope so.” She looked at Hermione. “But what’s the big deal then?”

“I think something about not having Draco there – usually I’m focused on him. Now I’m focused on the scary house and scary mother.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. We’ll be going over to help Andromeda set up anyway – so you’ll be able to get your fretting done early and then enjoy the party.”

“Of course.”

 

~~

Saturday afternoon passed in a flurry of activity at Chez Potter. Several babysitters had been deployed for the day and evening at the Burrow, allowing the women the chance to pamper themselves and dress at their own pace, and the men the luxury of an afternoon together as brothers. 

“Hermione?” Ginny called to her friend. They had gone upstairs to dress first, since they had promised Andromeda to help with the final preparations. 

“What’s up, Ginny?” Hermione entered the room, while putting on an earring. 

“I think I need to stay back from helping set up – I’m too tired from the morning sickness. Maybe you could ask Angelina? Or Penelope?”

“I’m sure Andromeda won’t have so much for us to do that it can’t be just me.”

“I wasn’t think of Andy, but rather Narcissa – but you’re probably right anyway.”

Hermione’s heart sped up at the idea of meeting Narcissa again. There was something powerfully unsettling about being in the presence of the mother of someone you were desperately trying to pretend you aren’t attracted to. And Narcissa in particular was the worst, with her generally totally unreadable expressions. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Ginny. Just rest up and come with the rest of the gang.” She smiled. “I’ll just finish getting dressed and head over.”

Twenty minutes later, she pulled a final curl into place, admiring the abilities of Sleek Easy once again. The red satin dress had an inlay of gold-colored lace, and she wore her favorite ruby earrings that her parents had given her for her last birthday. It was, of course, a decidedly Gryffindorish outfit, but it fit with the Christmas theme and she felt wonderful in it. 

Checking her hair one last time, she threw some floo powder into the fire and called “Malfoy Manor.”

Just at the edge of the floo, a small house elf was standing. She looked at Hermione curiously. “Madame Andromeda said Madame Potter is coming to help?”

“Ginny wasn’t feeling well, so she sent me instead. Andromeda shouldn’t mind.”

“I is taking you to Madame Narcissa first. Madame Andromeda is still dressing.”

“Of course.” Her hand went to her hair again, and she forcibly relaxed her arm as they came to a stop.

“Madame Narcissa, Mistress Grangers is here. Madame Potter is not making it.” They were standing at the door to a powder room. In most houses, it would have likely been a little half bath. In Malfoy Manor, it was large enough to hold about half of the expected female guests without trying. 

“Hermione?” A very familiar male voice asked. She moved into the room without thinking, rounding the little corner that blocked Narcissa from view. Narcissa was sitting at a vanity table, while the mirror showed Draco. 

“Oh, hello!” she said.

“Miss Granger! I’m so glad you could come. I hope Ginevra is all right?”

“Oh, yes. Just a little tired from chasing James.” It was the agreed upon excuse, if anyone asked about Ginny looking tired. 

“Oh good, then we’ll expect her later.” Narcissa replied, in a tone that asked no question. “Draco here just called to wish me good luck on the party this evening, didn’t you Draco?”

“I did.” He replied.

“That was very nice of you, Draco.” Hermione replied. He was staring at her, and quite openly. Narcissa was too distracted by arranging the little toiletries on the table and deliberately not being aware of what was passing around her. 

“You look very nice tonight.” 

“I’m sorry you can’t be here tonight.” They spoke at once, and Hermione looked down at her hands, fighting off a blush. This was worse than being a stupid Fourth Year trying to talk to Victor Krum. At least then she’d known the parameters of that relationship.

“I’m sorry I can’t be, but duty calls.” He replied.

“I’m very glad you got in. Bill told me.”

“Draco! I thought you sent her a message! Well, nevermind, there was so much to do! It was such a surprise when he got in!” Narcissa was looking at him fondly. 

“Well, I’m still very glad.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but there is things to be taking care of for the party.” Twinkle interjected nervously, her hands pulling on her big ears. 

“I know, Twinkle, dear. I appreciate you keeping me on schedule. Is Andromeda ready?”

“She is coming now, ma’am.”

“Good, good. Come along, Miss Granger. We’ll put you to work!” Turning to the mirror she smiled at her son. “Good night, Draco, and I will give you a full report in a few days.” 

He smiled, and gave a nod. “Mother.” He turned his eyes to her. “Hermione.”

The screen blipped to the normal mirror, and she felt herself let go of a breath. 

“Now, Hermione dear, how are your decorating charms?” 

~~

It was strange not battling her libido for the entire duration of the party. When Draco was there, she spent almost all of her time thinking about how to avoid him, how to not be nearby him, and most of all, whether he would ask her to dance and what she would say. She fantasized about saying no and escaping, but somehow, every year, her best intentions would go awry, and she would end up in his arms on the dance floor for the longest five minutes of her year. 

Each year, he managed to keep a patter of small talk going while Hermione answered in one or two syllables. He had never asked, and she would never tell him, what was going on – why she was always so awkward with him. She had thought, at one point the previous year, when the patter had died down and he had really looked at her that maybe he was going to figure it out on his own, but he had shaken his head, the music ended, and his mother had called for dessert to be served. 

Tonight, she danced with Harry and Bill, and a few other people. Stuffed herself with the delicious meal from the Malfoy kitchens and generally tried to enjoy herself. But it felt like something was missing, and she knew, in the back of her mind, what it was. 

That night, when they returned to a darkened house and Ginny paid the babysitter, Hermione wandered back into her room, changing her dress mechanically as she pondered on the fact that she was probably also in love with Draco, not just in lust. 

~~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I promise I haven't forgotten about this story! I am just finishing graduate school, and it has kept me supremely busy. Likely, there will be more regular updates starting in late May! Thanks for sticking around, and I hope you are enjoying the story - please feel free to leave comments!


	5. Chapter 4: January Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione comes back to school, and all is not what she assumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the incredible delay! Somehow, summer was much, much busier than I expected, and I got distracted on another writing project (which will likely make it's AO3 appearance in October). 
> 
> However, without further ado, here's Chapter Four. This will be finished. It's just going to take longer than I expected! Thanks for reading!

# Chapter Four 

Something was incredibly wrong. 

She’d arrived back in the city a few days before, just after a frolic upstate for the January full moon, refreshed and ready for work. Julie had owled her with a few ideas over their break, and Hermione knew that they would make their great breakthrough that semester. 

But something is incredibly wrong. 

Malfoy was not in Paris. There was no way he was in Paris because his scent was all over the Institute for the Advancement of Magical Beings the moment she walked in. 

She made it to the lab without incident, although she never remembered exactly how she got there. The door slammed behind her, making Julie look up. 

“Are you okay, Hermione?” 

Hermione’s hair was already out of its bun, her face flushed. “What…what programs start in the middle of the year?” She asked.

Julie looked at Hermione, a little distressed. “Uh…the Vampire Research Program, the Werewolf Specialization for Healers, and the Intensive on Cooperation Between Magical Beings. Why?”

Hermione felt the color drain from her face. So, it was very possible that Malfoy was here for his training. She swayed a little on her legs and grabbed the table in front of her. “I think I might be sick.” 

~~

“William, come over here!” Windy called over Hermione’s head as she sat down at the table in the cafeteria. Hermione looked over her shoulder and almost dropped her tray. 

A familiar head of blond hair was walking toward her. In that moment, she was fooled – until she realized that it was simply the same boy who had fooled her all the way back in November. 

It was a few days into the semester, and Hermione felt incredibly jumpy. She was waiting for Malfoy to jump out of dark corners, even though she knew that his smell would precede him. There was no way for him to get a jump on her…and yet. She worried. She jumped. She barely spent time at school, aside from the lab, which had a sealed door, and therefore was safe. 

William sat down next to her. “I’ve seen you before.” He said, by way of greeting. He held out his hand. “William Bonchance. Friend of Windy.”

She shook his hand. “Hermion Granger. Roommate of Windy.”

“Windy mentioned you. You do werewolf stuff, right?”

“Yeah. What do you do?”

“Oh, I’m in the Vampire wing.” She nodded. The Vampire wing spent their time trying to make vampires less hideous to the general population – finding blood substitutes, ways to prevent infection, and other things. Generally, dark and unhappy. William looked anything but, however. “You’re from London, right?” he asked, oblivious to Hermione’s train of thought. 

“My cousin just got here for the Werewolf Healer program – you know him I think, his name’s Draco.”

“Draco Malfoy is your cousin?” She asked. She was eying his hair. 

“It’s more of a – well. Family records are accurate back twelve generations. We split off at some point, and came to the “colonies” – and we kept the most prominent family feature.” He gestured at his hair. 

“That long?” He shrugged.

“Magical genetics. Not clear if it’s a blessing or a curse.” She laughed with him, and they chatted amiably for a while, until she realized Malfoy was coming towards them. He wasn’t in view yet, but his smell was getting stronger and stronger. 

She stood, as casually as possible. “Well, I’m going to head back to my lab.”

“Oh, Draco should be here soon, don’t you want to say hi?”

Hermione stared at him for a moment. “I would, but my potion’s on a timer.” It was a total lie, but harmless. 

“Well, I’ll let him know you say hi.”

“Yes, do.” She dumped the contents of her tray into the garbage and stacked the tray as precisely as possible while moving quickly. She realized that he was coming from the building, and decided to take the door outside. It would be a little weird, but it was the best she could do in the situation. 

 

~~  
Hermione, somehow, managed to avoid him for the entire two weeks until the next transformation. As the days got closer, she was more and more vigilant. There were reasons she had always stipulated that she would not be around him so close to her transformation. Getting to the lab was like running a gauntlet, but there was nothing she could do. 

The bus upstate jolted and spasmed as usual, but Hermione felt blissfully relaxed. She would be Malfoy-free until she got back to the city, at the very least. 

~~~

The transformation back had been harder than average on her body. Maybe it was the snow and cold, or the fact that she’d gone hunting with a pack of males who had been showing off for her. Either way, she’d put one as many clothes as possible to ward off the cold before heading downstairs for some tea and her medical exam. Maybe she’d ask for a pain potion after the examination. 

She sorted through the memories of the night as she wandered down the stairs. It was always something of a blur, but last night was worse than most. She passed the smell barrier on the stairs, and stopped dead. 

That smell. She looked up, her breath caught in her chest. Malfoy. Her heart rate went from sluggish to marathon in a moment. He was leaning against the doorframe of the medical exam room, his arms folded loosely. 

She resisted the urge to immediately turn around, but couldn’t quite muster a smile. He’s watching me. She realized this more clearly than any other thought in her head. Her head was starting to swim from the intoxication of his smell this soon after her transformation. What on Earth is he doing here? 

The moment was broken by another voice. 

“Ah, there you are, Miss Granger! Prompt and first as usual!” Edward Higgins had taken over after her first transformation as the Healer-on-call for the wolves. She appreciated the Canadian Healer – something about him reminded him more of the English than she would have expected. And it was nice when she was so far away from home. Except now she was face to face with the one relic of home that she had hoped not to see. 

She glanced at Healer Higgins, the power of speech totally deserting her. 

“Mr. Malfoy will be the Student Healer observing my examinations today. You two know each other, correct?”

Hermione nodded, trying to work her mouth into a semblance of order, and failing. She looked at Malfoy who was watching her carefully, his face neutral.  
“We went to school together. And worked together.” Her heart rate sped up at the sound of his voice. 

Higgins smiled. “Well, I’m sure you two will want to catch up later. Let’s get this started, then. I’m sure you want some tea.”

She tried a smile back at him, but it felt lukewarm at best. 

Malfoy backed into the room, all the way to the other side, allowing Hermione to enter without having to brush by him. The room was very small though, just barely wider than the examining table and not much longer. It was saved from being depressing by the windows that went from shoulder height to the ceiling, and the warm, wooden paneling that made it feel like a little nook rather than a doctor’s office. Still, the small room merely amplified his scent, and her hands began to get clammy. She glanced outside with the strongest desire to make a break for it, but she resisted, hoping to not make a fool of herself. 

She was too raw, too aware from her transformation to be this close to him. She tried hard to look away from him, but she could barely stop drinking in the sight of his face, his eyes, his hair. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt, and dark khakis, matching Healer Higgins, who was in khakis and a striped shirt. Healer Higgins, although a nice looking man for being in his late middle age, was not the one sending her libido into overdrive. 

Malfoy moved closer to her, and she looked down, gripping the edge of the examining table, as the smell hit her like a tidal wave. 

It was the best and worst thing she had ever smelled. He was delicious and terrible all at once. Her breathing was becoming labored and her nipples tightened under her shirt. She looked up, catching his eye again, praying he didn’t understand what was going on. It seemed futile. The awkwardness in the room was palpable.

Healer Higgins glanced back between the two of them, without comment. He cleared his throat. “So, Mr. Malfoy, as you know, we’re checking Miss Granger here for any particular damage she might have done to herself while transformed.” He looked at her with a slightly grandfatherly smile. “You haven’t done any damage to yourself, have you?”

She tried to crack a smile. “Not on purpose, anyway.” Her voice was harsh, deeper than usual. She felt her face heat up again with a blush. 

He gestured for her to lie down, and she did, settling her hands at her sides, trying to keep still. “Now, Mr. Malfoy. What is the first diagnostic spell I should use?”

“Diagnostic Revello?” He asked. 

“Very good.” He performed the spell, starting at the toes, revealing a highly detailed diagram of her body. It was an amazing piece of magic, and something she was usually very interested in. 

Her body, however, was going into overdrive. She couldn’t concentrate on the diagnostic, she couldn’t concentrate on anything, except for the fact that he was standing almost directly next to her and her body felt like it was on fire.

As he reached her abdomen, she shot up into a sitting position, causing both men to step away from the table. It was too much. She couldn’t stay still any longer, and if she stayed in the room, she was going to say or do something she regretted. Every part of her was incredibly sensitive, sending jolts between her legs. Malfoy looked confused, but Healer Higgins looked like he had just solved a puzzle. 

She forced her mouth into action. “I have to – I need to – I’m just going to go back upstairs.” 

“We haven’t even been able to look you over!” Malfoy protested, capturing her wrist. The contact burned, like every nerve ending was attached directly between her legs. The gush of warmth between her legs was amazing. She pulled her hand away with a yelp. Not a human yelp. 

Healer Higgins’ face was sympathetic. “Go upstairs, dear. I’ll be up in a moment.” 

She nodded, running upstairs without looking back, her cheeks burning with the indignity of it all. Closing the door behind her, she collapsed face forward on the bed. She blinked, causing the tears that had pooled in her eyes to run cold down her cheeks until they made two little wet spots on the sheet. 

“What a mess! What an absolute disaster!” 

~~

Some time later, when the tears had subsided, she pulled herself into a sitting position just as a knock sounded at the door. 

“Hermione? Is it all right if we come in? I’ve brought Arielle with me as well.” Healer Higgins voice was calm.

Hermione felt her heart break a little more. Would they kick her out of the program? What if they kicked Malfoy out of his as well? Arielle had never been thrilled with her being in the program to begin with…She felt a fresh wave of tears well up behind her eyes, and angrily scrubbed them away. 

“You can come in.” Her voice broke a little, but it was a remarkable effort. She sounded more normal than she could have hoped for. 

Arielle didn’t look angry. Neither did Healer Higgins. 

They moved slowly, deliberately calm. They weren’t angry, but they weren’t sure what her mental state was either. She supposed that was fair as well. Arielle sat at the edge of the bed, while Healer Higgins pulled the chair from the little desk in the room over to the bedside. 

“Edward tells me that you had an interesting reaction this morning.” Arielle began, softly. 

Hermione nodded, her tongue heavy in her mouth. 

“You know Mr. Malfoy previously, correct?” Arielle asked. 

Hermione nodded again.

“And you’ve had that reaction to him before?” Her voice was gentle.

Hermione looked away, nodding. “I limited my exposure to him – never so close to a transformation.” 

“And Mr. Malfoy doesn’t know what’s going on?”

She shook her head no. 

“I’m assuming you don’t want to tell him?”

She shook her head again. 

“Is there a particular reason for that?”

“I’m assuming because of your past history.” Dr. Higgins piped up. “You were not friends before and during the war.”

“We were enemies.” Hermione replied, watching him carefully.

“But you worked together for years – why not give him a chance?”

“He’s…I have the strongest reaction to him of anyone I’ve met since becoming a werewolf. Not only is it strange to be so out of control of yourself, but it’s terrifying to have it be to him.” 

“Why terrifying?”

“I’d be putting myself at his mercy. As much as I know he’s not that way anymore…something deep within me is…frightened.”

Arielle nodded. “I believe you were right on your initial diagnosis, Edward.”

Hermione felt her stomach drop. Diagnosis did not sound promising. “Diagnosis?”

“It’s a somewhat uncommon case, but not unheard of. Your wolf is in conflict. You had a very deep seeded distrust of him based on the events before and during the war. Now, you know him to be reformed, but the part of the Wolf that runs on base magic doesn’t know that nearly as well. However, the mate attraction is very strong. As I said, unusual, but not unheard of.”

Hermione looked at her, feeling very small. “Is there a treatment?”

“Yes, in fact, there is. We’ve dealt with at least one case previously – very simple really. Come see me in my office and we’ll get you sorted out.” Dr. Higgins said.

“And you’ll let me stay?”

Arielle looked surprised. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“I’ve just felt a little on eggshells since I got here – that a misstep would send me packing.”

Arielle paused. “I’m…sorry we gave you that impression. It was not my intention.”

“Thank you.” She paused. “What did you tell Draco?” 

“I told him you were likely having some kind of reaction to something you…ate…while transformed.” He looked apologetic. “I was rushed, it wasn’t the best excuse.”

“Well, it’s…something.” Hermione said, with a tired smile.


	6. Chapter 5: Exposure Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I haven't forgotten this! 
> 
> Sorry for the shortness, but I wanted to get something out. I'm already about a third done with the next chapter, so hopefully this will go a little more quickly. Thanks for your patience, and all!

#  Chapter Five: Exposure Therapy 

Starbucks seemed like neutral ground. It wasn’t a magical establishment – the closest thing was Oliver’s, but it was more of a drinks and hors d’oeuvres kind of place. So, a Starbucks, the one on Washington Square Place, the only coffeehouse nearby the school with reasonable seating and reasonable coffee, seemed like the right choice. 

She sat, waiting for Draco Malfoy. She twisted the bracelet on her left wrist, and then pulled her long-sleeved shirt over it. 

~~

Hermione knocked on Arielle’s office door. The building was quiet, most of the staff having left already for the evening. 

“Come in!”

Arielle and Healer Higgins were sitting in the small seating area, a third chair clearly ready for Hermione. 

“Hermione! I’m so glad to see you!” Arielle said. “Please, sit down.” Hermione sat, putting her small beaded bag in her lap. “We’re so glad you’re here – the treatment is really very simple, but your condition can cause such complications.” 

Hermione smiled, coloring a little as she remembered the scene in the cabin. “I didn’t find a lot of information about it in the library.”

“The condition is rare enough that it’s likely not found in most books. I anticipated that you’d like to read about it – it’s in the Regenstein Collection. The rare book collection. Here’s the call number.” Healer Higgins supplied.

“Thank you!” Hermione said, taking the small piece of paper, and then sitting back in her chair.

“So, as I mentioned, a fairly simple treatment.” Hermione nodded. “You’re having conflicting reactions. One, Malfoy is an enemy from your childhood. However, he is also a potential mate. In order to be able to get over what happened, you need meaningful, personal interactions. But, every time you see him, you’re overwhelmed by the pheromone process, and feel like you are about to make a fool of yourself, making the reaction more and more intense.” He paused, and Hermione nodded her understanding. “The goal, then, is to hamper or dilute the effects of the pheromones.”

Hermione looked surprised. “Is that possible?”

Arielle nodded, opening a small box. Inside was a small pile of braided leather bracelets, each with a set of three small, shiny beads. 

“Pick one.” Hermione sorted through them for a moment, feeling the magical signature surrounding them, and then picked one. She looked at Arielle. “Put it on.”

She slipped it over her wrist, and felt a shiver go up her arm and down her legs. 

“Did you feel something?” Arielle asked. 

“I did.” 

“Good. Now, the caveat is that it doesn’t discriminate. All pheromones are blocked and it has limited usefulness – in 180 days, it will wear off, entirely and immediately. And certain things you do can alter the functionality – but most won’t apply to you. It’s all detailed in the book.”

~~

He watched her out of the corner of his eye for a moment before going over to her. She’d found a table by the window, and was sipping a drink. She brightened when she saw him, something he didn’t expect. 

“Do you mind if I get a coffee before I sit down?” He asked. 

She nodded. “Sure, not a problem.” A few moments later, he sat down with what looked like an espresso. “Have you been here before?” she asked. 

“Not yet. I’m still finding my way around the city.”

She smiled. “I spent the first semester just trying to find my way around the city.”

He pursed his lips. “So, why am I here, Hermione?”

“No beating around the bush with you.”

“Not in this case.” He said, with a small smile. 

She sighed, taking a sip of her latte, and then took a deep breath. “Werewolves are very primal. Some things aren’t…controllable by the rational mind.” She paused “I’m sure you know how Ron and I ended – that our wolves were basically incompatible.” 

“Something similar happened with Pansy and I – although mostly she just found some other mate.” He said, with a sigh. 

She nodded. “I remember.” She took a breath. “It took a while for Arielle and Healer Higgins to figure out exactly what was going on with me. I had to explain a lot of our…past to her. From the war. She was…surprised. Or at least, surprised at exactly what roles you and I played.”

He considered that. No short history of their relationship would do, given how complicated it had all been. “What conclusion did they reach?”

“They think…they think that my wolf brain is afraid of you.” She rushed through the last of the words, blushing. Draco deflated a bit. “Not rationally, not logically at all. I know…very truly, I know that you aren’t someone to be afraid of. But…”

“Primally afraid?” He asked, still looking a little dejected. 

“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet. 

“What does that mean, then?” His mind raced, trying to understand the implications. 

She shrugged. “The treatment is basically…exposure therapy.”

“Exposure therapy?”

“Healer Higgins thinks, and Arielle agrees, that despite the very real basis of the fear, it’s more of a phobia at this point. I shouldn’t be afraid, but I am. It’s like, when I was younger, I was terrified of heights. And then I had to face those fears, so even though I still don’t like them, I’m okay now.”

He leaned back in his chair, considering his drink. “So, you have to build up a tolerance to me? I’m not sure I like that.”

She chuckled, her cheeks flushing. “Well, the idea would be more than tolerance. Friendship, if we can manage it.” She paused. “I feel like I’m in primary school. Draco Malfoy, will you be my friend?”

His face bloomed into a beautiful smile. “Won’t St. Potter and the Weasel blow a fuse?” He asked, with a laugh.

She rolled in her eyes. “They are on another continent, in case you hadn’t noticed. And besides,” she said, looking up at him. “you’re now an upstanding Healer and all.” 

“Upstanding might be pushing it a little far.” He said, a twinkle in his eye. He took a sip of his drink. “So, how does it work?”

“Get together regularly, do whatever. But interacting – getting to know each other.”

“So, no movies in a muggle theater?”

Hermione looked at him. “Have you done that before?”

He shrugged. “Maybe once or twice in London. And William is apparently a fan, so I’m sure I’ll get dragged to one soon.” 

“You’re staying with him right?” She asked, sipping her drink. 

“Yeah – the family thing. Although no one will believe how distantly we are related, given the hair.” 

“Genes? Magic?” She asked. 

“Who knows? He’s one of the few of his generation that has it. His family moved here before the revolution.” 

“That’s amazing!” She said, with a laugh.

He shifted in his chair, his face sobering. “Is that what was going on in London?”

She nodded. “I never exactly knew what was going on. It was just – hard – sometimes, to be around you.” She paused, looking at her cup and then back up at him. “I hadn’t seen you that close to a transformation, in that...vulnerable of a position.”

“Because…on some primal level, your wolf thinks of me as a threat.” He said. 

She looked sheepish. “To reiterate, it’s not really about you. It’s about our history, and my wolf.”

“I guess I understand.” He still didn’t look exactly convinced. He looked over at her. “You seem okay now?”

“Yeah, Arielle and Healer Higgins helped me out. Taught me some things to help.” She said, feeling her ears go red. 

“What’s it like?” he asked. 

She felt her face go entirely red. “I’m sorry?”

“Not your techniques. Although now I’m curious.” He said. She laughed, the color still high on her cheeks. “What’s it like as a werewolf?”

“It’s hard to describe. I live my life, but there’s a lot going on that isn’t really related to the world around me, but rather related to the phase of the moon. It’s a little like being hormonal or something, except totally different.” She said, picking at some imaginary lint. “It’s such a big adjustment – I wonder if we’d ever really be able to cure anyone who has been a werewolf for more than say, six months.”

“Really?”

“I think, even if we stopped the transformation, she’d still be there. She’s part of my psyche now.” 

“It sounds....” he trailed off. “I’m just curious, I hope you don’t mind.”

She shook her head. “I don’t mind at all.”

“So, what’s your first suggestion for getting together to get to know each other?”

“I wasn’t sure what you’d be interested in. Maybe dinner?”

“You know what? Why don’t we go to one of the Happy Hours they’re always talking about at school?”

“Happy Hours?”

“At The Slaughtered Lamb.”

“Don’t they do karaoke there?” she asked. 

“All the better.” 

“I guess…you’re on?” She said, laughing. 

“I’m holding you to that. The next one is a week from Thursday.” He said, with a smile. 

 


End file.
